A False Start: A Small Town Brother’s Best Friend Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 4)
A False Start: Chapter 10

We pull out of the barns at Bell Point Park in silence.

Truthfully, I’ve been sitting in silence for the past three hours. I left Nadia and her new horse at the Gold Rush row of stalls, and then I drove all the way back out to Ruby Creek to pick up my horse trailer because, of course, we didn’t bring one with us.

Then I drove all the way back, trying for the life of me to figure out why I’d buy the girl a fucking horse and then spend hours of my day figuring out transportation for it. Aside from the fact that I personally can’t handle the thought of a horse being sent to slaughter, it doesn’t add up. I saved Spot from the same fate, all skin and bones and dull coat with dead eyes, like he already knew what end he was facing.

I wish I could save every horse at those auctions from that fate.

But none of that equates to a rational reason to buy Nadia Dalca an injured racehorse. I could have just bought myself a second horse.

But I know she wanted one. And I’m still not over her referring to herself as broken. Nursing Spot back to health made me feel a little less broken, and maybe this horse can do that for her, too.

All I know is that when she turned around, I saw her heart crumple in her beautiful brown eyes. There’s an innocence about her I can’t quite figure out. Did she not know about the dirty underbelly of this industry? The number of horses that are tossed away when their money-making ability expires?

She was a sassy, lippy teenager two years ago, and now, she’s transformed into someone buffed to a beautiful, fake shine.

Just now, there was a crack in the smooth surface she’s manifested for herself. And I recognized the hell out of that sentiment. Of that look. I see it in the mirror, staring back at me now and then.

I hate that look on anyone. A dog. A friend. That friend’s little sister.

I mean, shit. Even that horse was looking like he knew it was the end of the line. So, saving him seemed like an easy fix. I’m a sucker for a horse that needs saving. Ask Spot.

Except now, Nadia is staring at me as we drive through Vancouver traffic toward the highway. I can feel her gaze tracing the lines of my face so heavily that she might as well be running a finger over them. I know getting a horse was on her list. I overheard that part of their conversation that morning, and I have the resources to do it. So why the fuck not? It was a nice, perfectly innocent thing to do.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

“Thank you. For doing what you did earlier. Today. Just all of it.” Her palm presses into the center of her chest. “I’m overwhelmed.”

She was easier to brush off when she had the bratty little sister act down. This version of her is harder to keep from getting under my skin.

“Welcome.” My fingers squeeze the steering wheel, and I force myself to keep my eyes on the road as silence stretches between us. Usually, I like silence. But right now, it’s awkward because there’s a lot to say and no one is saying a thing.

“How much did you pay for him?” Her fingers twist together in her lap, and she stares down at them.

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t bother t-t-trying to pay me back.” I scrub one hand over my beard, grateful it covers some of the heat creeping up my throat. “Consider him a gift. My way of saying sorry.” I let my eyes wander over to her. She’s still staring at her lap. Her lips press together, and she gives a small shake of her head.

“Okay.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles in my chest. An attempt to break the tension. “Expected a fight from you, Wildflower.”

She lifts her molten brown eyes, dark lashes providing the perfect frame for them. “I don’t think anyone has ever given me a more thoughtful gift, Griffin.” My lungs fill with thick air. Her smile is watery but sincere, and then she turns herself toward the window and watches the flow of traffic around us.

Anyone?

The word rattles around in my brain as I think about all the things I’ve received in my life, all the awesome experiences my parents have provided. The gifts, the vacations, the sentimental little trinkets along the way. I would never have guessed an injured racehorse purchased by me would rank up there for her.

It’s not until we’ve made it out of the city that she speaks again. “Has Stefan ever told you about our family?”

“That they died in a plane wreck?”

She nods. “Anything else?”

I wrack my brain and realize he hasn’t. “No.”

“My dad was a drunk.”

I grunt. So was I. What am I supposed to do? Judge the guy?

“He beat the hell out of our mom.”

Yes. I am supposed to judge this piece of shit.

“Stefan left for boarding school when I was a baby. He only came back in the summers. Then I had someone to hide in the closet with while it happened.”

A strangled groan erupts out of my throat. But I say nothing. Nadia’s head rests against the glass of the passenger side window and the words are flowing. Saying anything now would just be an interruption.

“Eventually Stefan went off to college. And then he never came back anymore. That’s when my mom started drinking. I’m pretty sure he was her favorite—her reminder of a happier time in her life. Me? I was just a reminder of the monster she was locked in that fucking house with. From what I gather, she had a lot going for her before she met him. Plans. Dreams. And then, it all just went out the window. I don’t actually know though because I never really got to know her.”

Horror washes over me. I spend an awful lot of energy feeling sorry for myself, and suddenly I feel like I have no right to that level of self-pity.

How can I feel bad for myself when Nadia has been through that?

She continues before I can say anything. Her stream of consciousness completely unfettered. “I think she became boring for him to beat up when she was passed out. So, eventually I became the new target. It happened the first time when I was fourteen. That’s when I decided I would never be his victim. I would never be her. And I started staying at other people’s houses because it was preferable to staying at my own.”

“Where would you stay?”

“It started out with girlfriends. Ended up with boyfriends.” Her voice is detached, in a faraway place. “For a few years there at the end, it was . . . a lot of boys.”

My heart clenches thinking of someone so young and impressionable with no direction. No support. No love.

“Did your parents wonder where you were?”

She snorts.

It’s almost cruel to not grab her hand, to lend a gentle touch to her after the way she just sliced herself open for me. But I also know that keeping my hands off her is in everyone’s best interest.

So instead, I fill the space with a confession of my own.

“I didn’t always have a stutter, you know.” I slur the word stutter a bit. It always trips me up. It seems cruel to have made that word have so many hard t sounds. I’d like to kick whoever came up with that square in the balls.

Her head whips to me, ripped right out of the memories she’s been immersed in for the last several minutes. “Really?”

I nod.

“How?”

“I used to play pro football. I was a two-time Superbowl champion. A Ruby Creek sensation.” My ensuing chuckle is laced with disappointment. I didn’t just let myself down with my spiral—I let a whole town down.

She nods eagerly, entire body turning toward me, hanging on every word. “I lived for football. Spent my life on the road, chasing wins, partying, and fucking every girl I could.”

I chance a look her way. Her throat bobs with a thick swallow, pink staining her cheeks.

“A simple play went wrong. I failed to attach my chin strap, and when I got sacked, I went down hard. And my helmet went flying.” I groan at the mere memory of how young and stupid I’d been.

“Oh shit.” Her nose scrunches up. She’s adorable. So enthralled in me.

“And all I remember is waking up in the hospital. My body was fine, brain not so much. Concussed as fuck. Spent a couple of weeks there. Probably took a few years off my parents’ lives in the process.”

“That must have been terrifying for them.”

I just nod. I don’t like to think about how hard I’ve been on my parents. I’ve been terrifying them since I was a kid, I’m sure. But these last several years have really taken the cake. Their only boy, spiraling while they stand back, powerless to help.

“Apparently, with some brain injuries, there can be the onset of a stutter. Sometimes it’s short-lived; in other instances it sticks around.” I shrug. “I’m almost certain there’s a mental aspect to it as well. It’s always the k’s and t’s that get me.”

“What do you mean?” Her head tilts, curiosity lacing her tone.

“Like . . . sometimes I overthink it, and then it’s worse. Stress and pressure make it worse. Some days are just better than others.”

“Is today a good day?” Her voice is lilting and soft, and I can’t help but turn my attention over to her beautiful face. All warm golden tones and chocolate fondue eyes.

“Why?” My voice comes out more gravelly than I intend.

Her tongue darts out over her bottom lip, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’ve used words that begin with both those sounds in the last few minutes with no problem.”

My mind races back, trying to pick out the spots where I said those letters. I was so lost in focusing between her and the road that I didn’t tiptoe around my words, for once. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Maybe you just like being around me.” Her smile grows, her body language changing. When our eyes meet, she pulls out a saucy wink. She thinks she’s joking, but the truth is spot on—I do like being around her. I just can’t explain why.

“Nadia.” I angle a disapproving glare her way.

“Oof.” She flops back in her seat with a noisy sigh. “Tough crowd.”

My cheek pinches with a lopsided smile. And then I blurt out something I should not. “It’s because your name starts with an n. Just makes scolding you that much easier.”

I laugh it off, until she turns to me and says smoothly, “I think you just like saying my name.”

I swallow because I am so fucked where Nadia Dalca is concerned.

Yes, Wildflower. I like saying your name.

“Why don’t we put him in the smallest paddock behind Griffin’s cottage?” Mira points over the field from where we stand in the front parking lot. “The best thing for that horse right now is going to be a little peace and quiet. Not a busy barn. Stall rest, cold hosing, and unwinding is what he needs. Then we can figure out what to do with the leg. Probably surgery for what I’m assuming is a joint full of bone chips.”

Nadia nods, looking strong and capable with her hands propped on the swell of her hips. I try hard not to let my eyes trail down over the curve of her ass.

But I fail fucking miserably.

I’ve never considered scrubs to be sexy, but on Nadia, it’s like a whole new ball game. A man would have to be blind to not appreciate her soft curves and long limbs.

It’s almost criminal.

She turns to me, and I drop my gaze onto the scuffed toes of my boots, feeling guilty as hell. “Is that okay with you? I’ll have to pop in at your place regularly, then.”

Say no, you schmuck.

“Yeah, sure.”

Griffin Sinclaire fails again.

“Get him settled in and then come for dinner,” Mira says. “You guys have had a long day. We’ll order in. Nothing crazy.”

These women are running circles around me, making plans and getting shit done. I’m not accustomed to dealing with people this way. Accounting for their plans. Adjusting mine to fit them. Up in the mountains, I don’t answer to anyone. I do my daily chores, work out, and train the few horses that get sent up to me.

I eat by myself. I read by myself. And when I do get lonely, I visit my parents.

“Fine.”

“He means, Thank you. That sounds lovely, Mira.” Nadia pipes up with a laugh. “We’ll be there soon.”

Mira gives us a slow smile, eyes bouncing between Nadia and me. I swear, if someone were going to be a mind reader, it would be her. She probably knows I was eye fucking her husband’s little sister.

Nadia and I hop back in the truck, and it strikes me that I am very tired of driving. All I want to do is relax. Soak up a little peace and quiet. My shoulders rise and fall under the weight of a heavy sigh as we pull out of the circle driveway at the entryway of Gold Rush Ranch.

I miss my place in the mountains.

I miss being alone.

I miss my privacy.

And I just agreed to let Nadia come over to my place daily, rather than pushing her away like I should be doing.

You also bought her a fucking horse, sucker.

I groan aloud and Nadia’s eyes snap to mine.

“Are you growling?”

I shake my head and keep my eyes on the road, hauling the trailer carefully behind us.

“That’s very feral-mountain-man of you. I went from thinking you didn’t talk at all to realizing that you mostly speak in grunts and growls.” She crosses her arms across her midsection and leans back in the seat with a pleased smile on her face. “A lesser woman would think you were nuts. Lucky for you, nuts works for me.”

God, give me patience to endure Nadia Dalca.

“It’s part of your charm. Sometimes people just talk to fill the space. I think they might just like the sound of their own voice. But you’re so comfortable with silence. It’s kind of peaceful, really.”

I shoot her a withering glare. The irony of talking about people who fill the space with unnecessary chatter while she chatters away unnecessarily is not lost on me.

“Give me that look all you want, Sinclaire. I know you’re a big softie underneath that hard shell. Like a turtle.” Her voice is full of mirth. She’s enjoying the hell out of this. And my mind wanders to all the filthy ways I could wipe that smirk off her pretty face.

I groan and bang the back of my head against the headrest. I want to say something about her terrible comparison to a turtle, but I don’t trust myself to pronounce it right now. Not with her attention fully focused on me.

It’s fucking unnerving.

In a way that it should not be, considering our age difference and connection. I should feel brotherly toward this girl.

And brotherly is very, very far down the list of what I feel for her. But then, I do have a special knack for fucking things up when they’re going well for me. Maybe I’m destined to do that to the only real friendship I’ve had in years, too.

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